


Rust in An Open Wound

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Advice, Anxiety, Brotherly Love, Bullying, Caring, Concerned Bluestreak, Death Threats, Eventual Happy Ending, Family Drama, Fist Fights, Major Character Injury, Non-Consensual Violence, Piggy-Back Rides, Praxus (Transformers), Pre-Canon, Protectiveness, Rage, Self-Defense, Stalking, Studying, Tenderness, Transformers Spark Bonds, Twins, Wisdom, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 22:24:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4497003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prowl doesn't want anyone to know where certain dents and scratches are coming from... But then Bluestreak notices and informs Smokescreen, who's immediately determined to pry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rust in An Open Wound

**Author's Note:**

> *T.A.C.L.E. - The Academy of Cybertronian Law Enforcement (in this story, one of its bases is in Praxus)

“Smokes. There’s something wrong.”

“What’s the matter, Blue?” Smokescreen asked, trying to hide his surprise at his cousin’s sudden appearance at his window.

“Prowl’s been coming home late from the Academy—even later than usual. Sometimes he has dents; only last night I saw him limping! It’s not because of the sparring; Sire says none of the recruits this year can even touch him. He won’t tell me what he’s been doing or where he’s been going. Something’s wrong, Smokescreen!”

All Smokescreen could see of his cousin were his worried optics peeking over his fingers as he held himself up to the sill.

“That does sound strange. Umm…do you want to come in?”

Smokescreen moved a chair under his window for Bluestreak to step down onto as his face momentarily disappeared and the sounds of his feet scraping the wall as he clambered up could be heard.

Bluestreak finally dropped into the room and sat, arms crossed and doorwings drawn tensely erect.

“What can we do, Smokes? I’ve tried every type of bribing, even straight-up begging that he tell me what’s been happening at T.A.C.L.E., but you know him: he just gets really quiet.”

“Well, then,” Smokescreen started, “we’ll just have to get him to tell us without his knowledge.” At Bluestreak’s puzzled eyebrow-raise, Smokescreen waved a hand through the air and concluded, “We’ll just follow him from the Academy when he gets out.”

Bluestreak hummed in both concern and consideration. Smokescreen knew Bluestreak was always a bit taken by surprise at his impromptu planning methods, but they had often proven effective in the past, so Bluestreak ended up nodding resolutely and going along. “Right. They get out at sundown. You can meet me across the street near Overclutch’s sweet shop.”

And with that, Bluestreak was gone, back out the window.

Smokescreen shook his helm lightly, and turned back to finish his day’s studies before the night’s falling. He wondered briefly why Bluestreak didn’t just use the front door—it wasn’t as if his Sire minded either of his nephews visiting Smokescreen—but soon he came to the conclusion that Bluestreak had most likely ignored his own studies in order to come and wanted to avoid discovery. Huffing softly, he set back to doing his own work, but his CPU kept returning to what Bluestreak had told him.

Who could be setting on Prowl? The elder twin was not only brilliant and masterful in everything he did; Smokescreen had the privilege of seeing how he treated Bluestreak and he also knew that Prowl could be gentle, kind. Smokescreen held him in some awe, as young sparklings often look up to their older brothers. The twins _were_ his brothers, even if he sometimes felt like the third wheel to their spark bond. It was the moments like Bluestreak coming to him for help that chased that feeling away.

Smokescreen’s optics narrowed and his fingers tightened on the edges of his data pad. They would find out who was hurting Prowl. And they would make them pay.

—

Glad for the cover of rain and falling dusk, Smokescreen hurried down the street to meet Bluestreak across from the tall building where recruits went to train as law officers for several different sectors of Praxus. Bluestreak was already there, practically melding into the wall of the sweet shop due to his subtle gray paint.

“Finally,” Bluestreak whispered by way of greeting, nodding toward the Academy building. “They’re about to be dismissed; I just heard the final braam blast.”

Sure enough, recruits started trickling out in twos and threes. Some were limping, but shrugging off their wounds; merits of honor earned during the day’s training.

“There he is!” Bluestreak hissed. “Turn around.”

The two inspected Overclutch’s closed door as nonchalantly as they could while still keeping tabs on where Prowl was going.

After waving farewell to his few companions, Prowl glanced cautiously around and paused at a split in the street, finally deciding to go to his left. Bluestreak and Smokescreen glanced curiously at each other. The street to the right would have been the shorter way home. As quietly as possible, they scurried in pursuit.

They trailed Bluestreak’s twin as he led them on a twisting route through their sector of the city, occasionally stopping to make calculating decisions on which roads to take. Smokescreen and Bluestreak were quite perplexed by this behavior and sometimes hard-pressed to keep up while staying out of sight.

When they were within a mile or so of the twins’ home, Prowl halted once more, but this time his doorwings stiffened before forcefully folding flat. Smokescreen shot out a hand and pulled Bluestreak into the shadows to see what would happen next.

“Prowler. Where’re you prowlin’ to at this late hour?” An unpleasant voice came out of the darkness of an alley on the _other_ side of the street.

Prowl sighed, his voice even quieter than usual when he greeted, “Coil. This again?”

“Got somethin’ else you’d rather be doin’?” Coil stepped out of the shadows, followed by four other mechs, all looking to be around Prowl and Bluestreak’s age.

“Wait. I’ve seen him around,” Bluestreak muttered, peering at Coil. “Prowl always told me not to go anywhere near him. He got ejected from the Academy last diun for almost killing another guard. He wouldn’t leave, so they called on Prowl to force him out.”

“Shockingly, yes. I would rather be at home, taking some time in the wash-racks and then buffing out my scratches. You ought to do the same,” Prowl suggested in an exasperated tone.

“That supposed to be an insult?” Coil growled, coming forward and striking Prowl across the face. Prowl stumbled and spat a mouthful of energon but didn’t fall, so Coil struck again, kicking one of his legs out from under him. The other mechs closed in on his kneeling form, raising fists with obviously ugly intent.

“Stop!” Smokescreen blurted out, drawing all optics to him. Deciding to roll with it, he came into sight, illuminated by a streetlamp.

Prowl’s expression, for once, wasn’t cultured into calmness. His optics widened at Smokescreen’s sudden appearance and opened wider still when Bluestreak strode out to stand beside him.

“Who’re the knock-offs?” one of the strangers grunted.

“Who cares? Go for ’em,” Coil ordered, leading the charge.

They were shocked as, instead of U-turning, Bluestreak and Smokescreen met them halfway, screaming and eager to bring justice down on the glitches who would torment someone they loved. Smokescreen ducked one’s swinging fists and crashed into his chassis, flattening him to the ground. Grinning a little, he lifted his doorwings and tripped another coming up behind. Bluestreak ran in circles around another, lashing out wherever he could. But even though they were brave (and in Smokescreen’s case, scrappy) and matched their opponents in height, the cousins were less experienced, for the team was actually made up entirely of Academy dropouts, kicked out for one reason or another.

Coil loomed behind Smokescreen as he rose to his feet and grabbed him in a chokehold. Bluestreak whirled around to help, but was stopped by a vicious hook to the jaw much like the one Prowl had received. Before he fell, his attacker seized his doorwings, crushed them together and used his momentum to slam him into the wall. Smokescreen thrashed wildly, clutching at Coil’s arm, but the grip only tightened and tightened until Smokescreen was certain his vocalizer was starting to crack—

Suddenly he was on the ground, coughing out a mangled Praxian curse and clutching his throat. As soon as he could, he crawled toward Bluestreak, who was groaning and arching his back, trying to roll over.

“Blue! Are you alright?” Smokescreen croaked out, carefully grasping Bluestreak’s shoulder and helping him adjust onto his side.

“I don’t think so. My doorwings feel…wrong,” Bluestreak hissed, shuttering his optics against the pain.

“Just—just lie still now. I’ll get help…” Smokescreen’s voice trailed away as he became aware of what was going on around them.

Two members of the gang were already on the ground, moaning and trying to haul themselves away. Prowl had crossed the street, dragging Coil by the throat, and was fending off the other two still standing. With one arm he seized one by a seam of his armor and twisted, sending him flying through the air and crashing into the nearby streetlamp, denting its base. The last decided he’d had enough and tried to get away, but Prowl released Coil, grabbed his current victim by the arm and by the back of the neck, and slammed him into the ground, following it with a brutal drop of Prowl’s shoulder into his throat that put him down for good. Smokescreen recognized him as the mech who had laid out Bluestreak.

The lackeys taken care of, Prowl turned his full attention to Coil, who was sprinting as fast as he could to escape. Yet he wasn’t fast enough—Prowl launched himself, seizing Coil by the shoulders, and shaking him until the bully was cringing and whimpering in his grasp. Snarling, his face contorted almost unrecognizably by rage, Prowl hauled the terrified dropout up so their faces were mere millimeters apart.

“Now. Listen carefully, you petty, cowardly little _glitch_ …”

Smokescreen flinched a little as Prowl located him with a finger, not even looking at him.

“This is Smokescreen, my cousin, who will be one of the finest warriors among anyone short of a gladiator. He’ll shine among the rust of this city—which includes you—and I wouldn’t be surprised if one day you saw him as your hero.

“This is Bluestreak. My brother—not only that, my twin. If you find yourself afraid of me, you can’t even begin to imagine us when we are one, so you had best make your reparations to him now while he’s still in a forgiving mood.”

Prowl shoved Coil’s face in the general direction of Bluestreak, still kneeling in the street with Smokescreen’s arm supportively around him, and waited while Coil slurred out an apology before yanking him back.

“So, Coil, creation of Aftershock, if you lay a hand to either of these bots ever again, so long as I function, I will murder you in a hideous way. Are. We. _Clear_.” Sneering contemptuously, Prowl dropped the cowering mech and turned on his heelstrut towards his family before waiting to hear Coil’s answer.

Spitting energon, Coil struggled to crawl away fast enough. The rest of the street was already empty of his gang, who made their escapes as soon as they were able.

Smokescreen and Bluestreak trembled slightly at Prowl’s approach. Suddenly he didn’t seem as benign as he always had in the past, but he knelt before them, face filled with the same ‘older twin’ concern as they had always known.

“What are you _doing_ here? Are you alright? Can you walk?”

“Y-yes, I think so.” Smokescreen was trying to help Bluestreak stand, but straightening up seemed too painful for him.

“Blue, wait! Here, let me, Smokescreen.” Carefully, Prowl lifted up his brother onto his back, pulling his arms around his neck. Relaxing, Bluestreak mercifully seemed to lose his grasp on the situation.

As they walked back toward the twins’ home, Smokescreen explained what they were doing following him. Prowl shook his helm, pursing his lips.

“Ah. Bluestreak, he shouldn’t have worried. I was never in any danger.”

“But why didn’t you ever fight back? Why didn’t you just thrash them the first time?” Smokescreen asked, confused and angry.

“I suppose…they felt they were wronged, and sometimes it is best to just let tempers work themselves out. None of them are suited to be guards, but if they’re coming after me, it means they are staying out of trouble elsewhere. I knew I could handle them if need be, so I felt there was no harm in letting them…vent, as it were. I was actually wondering where we might be able to utilize them before this. Though loutish, they were not without some skill and strength.

“But after they went after you two…” Prowl’s face darkened terribly and he shook his helm once more as he spat, “I wanted to…”

Trailing off, he stopped and looked down at his cousin. “Smokescreen, if anything happened to either of you and I wasn’t there to stop it, I don’t know what I would do with myself. It was brave of you… _kind_ of you…to want to find out what was happening, but a true fighter must learn restraint and discretion and _wisdom_. Pick your battles, cousin. Don’t throw yourself into a fight you cannot win.”

Smokescreen nodded gravely, absorbing this information as they continued on to Prowl and Bluestreak’s quarters, their windows two solitary but reassuring blips among the lights of Praxus.


End file.
